


Summer

by Agent_Zap



Series: Wentworth Miller [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, heat wave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Zap/pseuds/Agent_Zap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although Harry showers as soon as he comes home in the evening, he’s already covered in sweat again before he reaches the bed. It’s not yet dark outside, and a smell of dust and wilting grass drifts in through the window, along with the sound of birds warning each other that a cat is nearby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own, making no money.
> 
> Un-betaed...
> 
> Yes, I know there's probably a spell that would cool down the house. But I just love hot, sweaty summer sex.
> 
> Why the fuck can’t I add a description of a series?!? Well, here goes.  
> I often thought about putting my oldest fics up here, too, just to keep it all in one archive. Then I’d read them through and think that nobody really needed to see that. (Honestly: it’s not great literature.)  
> But then, last year, Wentworth Miller came out as gay. And his description of how harrowing it had been to be in the closet reminded me very much of a process of self-discovery, acceptance and disclosure that I’d gone through. I got curious and looked him up – found that he’d written one film manuscript; Stoker. I watched the film… And yeah, I knew I had to put these stories up here. That film reminded me so much of my early fics – so full of self-loathing; full of belief that what you want from the depth of your heart makes you a monster. Let’s not forget that we still live in a world where people are made to feel this way by all kinds of normativity. Let’s call this the Wentworth Miller series (even though all the fics are Harry Potter). Not all of these stories are openly dark – but they’re all from the same period. Please read tags carefully.

Although Harry showers as soon as he comes home in the evening, he’s already covered in sweat again before he reaches the bed. It’s not yet dark outside, and a smell of dust and wilting grass drifts in through the window, along with the sound of birds warning each other that a cat is nearby.

He falls back onto the bed with a sigh, grimacing at the linen that is already creased and crumpled up, though he changed it just yesterday. He has been tossing and turning, trying to find spots on the bed that he hasn’t soaked with perspiration yet.

Severus is supposed to come home at some point tonight. He has missed him – and feels slightly ungrateful because right now the thought of the heat of another body next to his in this oven is just unbearable. For a while he considers getting up and putting on fresh sheets – again – but decides it isn’t worth it. He’s exhausted, and they won’t stay fresh for five minutes anyway. Hopefully tomorrow will be a little cooler. It’s their day off.

It feels like he doesn’t sleep at all, like he’s being cooked slowly, and he wonders if it is possible to dehydrate in a night. He knows he will have the ultimate bed head come morning, stiff with salt. But at some point he must have dozed, because when he gets up to fetch a glass of water, it’s dark and Severus is next to him in the bed, fast asleep. Harry pauses next to the bed and crouches down to look at the man. He’s sprawled on the edge of the bed, one arm hanging down to the floor and black hair spread over the pillow, twisted away from his shiny face. A few wet strands have managed to stick themselves to his neck and jaw. It looks like he got a sunburn on his nose, and Harry wishes he could make it better. He doesn’t want to disturb him, though. His eyelids are swollen and baggy with tiredness, and a white line stands out between his eyebrows, testifying that whenever it was that he managed to get sun on his face, he was frowning all the time. Harry gets the water, and puts a glass on Severus’ side as well.

When he wakes up next time, the sun is up again, shining through the white curtains that are moving with a light morning breeze. A blackbird is hollering and stomping in the trees outside. It’s still hot. He’s trying to gather sufficient power of will to make the effort of turning onto his other side, so the sun will be out of his face, when he feels Severus’ nose nuzzling into the damp hair on the back of his neck. He decides he can probably live with the sunshine for another minute or two. Then Severus begins blowing softly at his neck. He sighs and shivers with relief, and cranes his neck to get the cooling breath over as much of his skin as possible. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, just drinking in the goodness of moving air. He may very well have gone back to sleep. But his consciousness slowly returns when Severus’ hand starts ghosting over his hip. Then a hot, sweaty body draws up behind his own. It’s hot. It’s all so insanely steamy that it really doesn’t matter whether they touch or not. Everything is hot. So Harry presses back against Severus and revels in the slickness of their bodies gliding against each other. He finds a reserve of heat-resistant energy and pulls up his legs, lining up for Severus’ erection while he stretches his arms out on the mattress before him.

He breathes deeply and quietly, trying not to drown in the humidity. Severus reaches down Harry’s front and runs those long fingers through his pubic hair and back to his arse where he can guide himself without pulling away from Harry. He curls up around the smaller man and bends his head over Harry’s shoulder, so their cheeks are pressed together. The raw itch of morning stubble and greasy salt rubbing between them is maddening. Harry can smell Severus’ breath, the sweet, lurking decay of mornings before tooth brushing. Severus rests his palm against Harry’s perineum, letting his fingers cup his anus, and lets the head of his prick slide through the guiding tunnel and into Harry. Everything is slippery and scalding like liquid candle wax. Harry sighs and welcomes the burn. Severus grasps onto his hip but can’t keep a hold on the sleek surface, so instead he catches Harry’s prick and holds tight.

Harry swims as Severus pushes in and out of him, slowly, languidly. There’s no urgency, no time, really. Just the heat. And Severus moving, in him, around him, everywhere. The only thing anchoring him is the hand on his prick. He feels the swirling waves of heat begin to condense, and inhales the fire deeply as the burning wires thread through his whole body, twisting together and knotting up somewhere deep in his pelvis. He hears Severus moan next to his ear; little, almost silent moans, sounding surprised and reluctant. Harry feels a tremble pass through Severus, and himself become even slicker and stickier. Finally Severus squeezes Harry’s prick hard a few times, and that is all it takes, Harry sighs deeply and feels the glowing knot inside dissolve in soothing, white spurts.

The sun has come up and doesn’t hit the bed anymore. It feels cool enough to sleep.


End file.
